


Woodland Nymph

by mosvalsky



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 12:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2229366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosvalsky/pseuds/mosvalsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Light of my life<br/>Fire of my loins<br/>My sin, my soul<br/>Legolas</p>
            </blockquote>





	Woodland Nymph

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god I can't believe I wrote this. *sigh* more pretentious nonsense.

It was eight years before my inevitable fall, before the northern realm of Eryn Lasgalen crumbled in my hands like chalk.

Such a short time for so much to have happened. Thousands of years of living and they all come crashing down in a matter of days. But I suppose that's just the way things go.

Fire will work as it will. Brilliant heat burns beauty to ashes in an instant.

So it was with the most heated desire I've felt in all my life.

***********

It was the instant my son turned of age that all of this happened. Not, of course, for the logical reason.

See, he seemed intent on selecting a mate as soon as tradition dictated he was able to. Legolas claimed it vehemently as “love at first sight,” but any who took the time to watch him and his darling elleth could see that that was hardly the truth. Even if he did honestly believe it as so.

I found it almost amusing when I first saw them. My mouth twitched, a smiling wishing to be borne, but I pushed it back to maintain my air of regal aloofness. He whispered something in the elleth’s ear that made her blush furiously, and he smiled broadly, proud of his words’ effect. He pushed against her playfully and she returned the gesture, but then used the closeness to lean her head against a broad shoulder, her blond hair falling all over him. Legolas seemed content then in the subtle closeness, and his “lover,” or whatever he considered her, looked modestly happy. They appeared to be a cute couple, but it was wrong. Completely and utterly wrong.

He was a prince. My prince. He had wild fire in his veins and he was pushing it down inside him, allowing it to be extinguished for some mediocre contentment. The very thought was enraging, and if I didn’t simply adore spoiling him so much with my attention, I would have demanded on the spot that the two never see each other again. But it was a small problem, really. And short-lived as I would ever have hoped.

I largely believe that the reason he began to see this elf maiden was due to him being incredibly and possible overly attentive as an elfling. I had told him every story I knew to tell, ones of beauty and happiness, and others of darkness and tragedy. I think the latter must have resounded in him more strongly. But most of all, I had told him all the stories I knew of past elves, ones where those who married late in life (or not at all) grew to have futures that were twisted and strange. I really think this is why he was so immediately attached to this girl. He felt he had no choice otherwise. Poor misguided child.

The affair lasted a resounding six months, and I was forced to watch them the entire time, as they courted and fought, and eventually broke up. I had to see every pathetic lovey-dovey attempt at romance my son threw at her, and every half-hearted attempt to reciprocate. It was torture. And when I heard of their fate after the longest six months I had sat through, I was ecstatic.

I readily believed at the time that my relief was merely a response to the visual and verbal assault I no longer had to entail. But I soon found out that I had been rather incorrect in this judgement.

My eyes continued to watch him as he busied himself with meaningless tasks, and I could no longer convince myself that the reason my gaze was so often drawn to him was that the picture of him and his lover was so ridiculously gaudy. I caressed his form with my eyes so intently as he stalked the halls or sat reading or polished his bow. Especially then. As his strong arms worked so diligently and his back curved gently as he leaned over his handiwork. He was so statuesque in everything he did I could do nothing but stare. And yet as it was, I still utterly failed to realize, let alone admit, the reason for my intense fascination.

Perhaps I had written it off as pride. I had a strong warrior son who had grown to become as princely as one of royalty should. He was intelligent, diligent, and the best archer in the realm, despite his young age. Of course I was proud of him. What parent wouldn't be?

But of course that was beside the point, and even as I thought it to myself, I knew I was just trying to convince myself I had no reason to feel guilt.

But it was there nonetheless, though it took me some time to recognize. It had become a dull but persistent ache in my stomach and I didn't know what to do about it. I hardly knew why it was there.

But one exceptionally hot day, I realized.

Most of the elves of Eryn Lasgalen had decided to either stay indoors or amass around the various luxuriously cool fountains and pools, so I hardly expected to have run into Legolas then. I was patrolling about the woods and taking in the sunshine (at the time, I was rather partial to the heat) when I eyed the ethereal being on a grassy patch under a pleasantly shady tree. I mentally applauded him for managing to find the nicest spot in the entire realm, but not before my breath was taken away completely. He lay on his stomach, head resting on his hands and his feet behind him gently kicking back and forth. He looked so innocent, as if he were an elfling again. But his masculine figure did help to remind me of his age. But mostly, it incited something inside me. Some kind of fire that ripped through me, leaving only charred remains of any sense of propriety I had. I grew hard just looking at him, and I quickly sought out shelter from his eyes, so only I could see him. I would not yet risk any danger of discover. Largely because I simply didn't yet know what I was doing. But as I reached to palm myself through my clothing, I seemed to gain a sort of understanding that this, rather than any excuse I may have used to explain my feelings to myself, was exactly what I yearned to feel. The excitement of something so deliciously wrong, the sheer lewdness. It was almost more titillating than the sight itself.

My mouth grew slack as I watched him, a heavy and insatiable need building in me. In that moment, it seemed as if the world may end with this one action. But my need was so great that even if my world WERE to fall apart around me, I would hardly care. I would narrow my eyes and all I could see would be Legolas, my son, the most elegant and glorious creature I had laid eyes on, and I would give no mind to the falling rubble and ashes drifting around me.

But as the intensity grew, I released an awful strangled sound that seemed to resonate through the entire forest. Legolas immediately turned, a look of concern marring his face.

Panic swept over me, and I acted with little sense but great vigor as I ran from the site. I ran and ran and ran, leaving all remote traces of my dignity there on the spot I had watched him. When I finally returned to my private quarters within the walls of the realm, I felt disgusting and defeated and horribly confused.  
My thoughts were more disjointed than they had ever been. The truth was clear before me and I refused to look at it. It deserved no acknowledgement. Nothing was so terrible. And yet nothing had ever been any more true.

I was in love with my son.

The words tasted so bitter, so astringent, that I could hardly even think them. But there they were, bold and undeniable.

Of course, I was in no position at the time to allow myself to continue lusting after my own kin, let alone my son, so I knew something had to be done.

Exactly what though, failed to evade me until weeks later (horrible, painful weeks) when a messenger arrived from Lorien.

It was perfect.

There was a very unfortunate need for extra protection around their realm. Very unfortunate, very tragic. Many dear lives lost, et cetera. Anyways, this appeared as the perfect chance to relieve my aching heart.

So I replied to the messenger, affirming that the Woodland Realm would supply aid to Lothlorien.

I was quite happy to have found a way around this problem, but Legolas was hardly okay with my choice to have him be head of this guard. In conversation or exchanged glances, we became very awkward around each other, and Legolas made it perfectly clear that he was punishing me. He would occasionally mutter things like "traitor" as he passed by and would largely refuse to speak otherwise. It was quite painful to endure, but it was much better than the alternative.

At least, that was what I thought until the day of his leave.

I was watching the soldiers begin to set off on the crisp morning that marked the day Legolas was to leave my thoughts. I looked up and down the rows, searching for him, but I didn't seem able to find him. I began to grow concerned until I caught sight of him at last, at the very back of the gathering. I was relieved for a second and then horrified. I was, of course, in plain sight to them. After all, it was only natural for a king to watch after his soldiers. But immediately after finding my son in the crowd, I realized that he had found me as well, and he sprinted away from the warriors.

My stomach lurched in anticipation of who knows what. Perhaps he had gone back to tell me how wrong I was to send him off for the millionth time. Or perhaps he was deciding that he was just not going to heed my orders.

I backed away from the ledge I stood at and walked into the adjoining room, heart heavy and hands clasped tightly behind my back.

When I heard the quick footfalls, my heart stopped, and when I saw him running towards me, a fiery intensity in his eyes, it started beating so fast I thought it might leap out of my chest.

And then he clung to me, arms flying around me and lips coming to mine so passionately I thought I might die. The moment seemed suspended in midair, and nothing was possible in those seconds. When his hot mouth moved against mine, and my strong jaws threatened to devour him. When my limp arms came to wrap tightly around his back, and he smiled into the kiss.

It was over in less than a heartbeat, and as he happily ran back to his company, I fell to my knees.

Nothing and everything was possible then, as I sat there, eyes clenched shut and mind reeling.


End file.
